In My Time of Dying
by Nopride4531
Summary: It was no secret that Charles Xavier couldn't resist helping people... even humans. So when he stumbles across Harm OCD victim and suicidal Ava Harriet Devoe, he finds himself compelled to save her. He quickly realizes that he's not the best person to do the job, but he knows exactly who is: his younger self. A story of friendship, struggle, and recovery. Trigger warnings inside.
1. Introduction

**Alrighty, this is my first x-men fanfic ever, so I hope that you guys like it! Try to bear with me when it comes to, well, everything, but mostly the darker themes of the story (see warnings below).**

**Oh and feedback of any kind is always appreciated! **

**TRIGGER WARNINGS PLEASE READ: Suicidal thoughts, self harm, major anxiety, and harm OCD in later chapters. If reading this already makes you anxious, I am so, so very sorry, but I had to state it. **

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Charles Xavier was living a rather extraordinary life. Well, as extraordinary a life as a telepathic mutant professor could live. Considering that things had been rather tumultuous lately, what with the constant threat of Shaw hanging in the background, this small moment of peace was a blessing. It wasn't often that he ever got a break of any kind. So as he sat in his chair, one pale smooth hand resting on his desk and the other leafing through the yellow pages of the book in his lap, he silently thanked whatever unseen force (if any) had granted them this small stroke of luck.

But it couldn't—no, _wouldn't—_last.

And as a matter of fact, it _didn't_.

He was just about to shut his book (something on genetic drift in various cultures. Whether or not he wrote it, he couldn't remember) when a loud crash sounded directly outside his study window. Frowning, he closed the book with a barely audible _thunk_ and slowly pressed two fingers to his temple. To his relief, the kids seemed to be okay; Raven was sound asleep in her room upstairs, Sean and Alex were watching television, and Hank was working on his serum. And as for Erik, he was... brooding. As usual.

From what he could tell, everyone was alright...

But that did nothing to explain the presence of the young girl who'd suddenly appeared outside in the garden and collapsed to the ground in a crumpled heap.

Jumping to his feet, Charles threw open the door to his study and ran out into the hall, nearly mowing down a now very confused Erik. He didn't bother to stop and see what the metal manipulator's reaction was; he simply made a beeline for the front door, dimly hearing Erik's footsteps as he followed him. When he finally reached it, he wrenched it open and dashed toward the girl, her small frame illuminated in the brief flash of lightning that struck overhead. He skidded to a halt at her side and quickly knelt next to her, his mind instinctively reaching out for any sign of life. To his evident relief, he felt a flickering sensation that told him she was still in the land of the living.

"She's alive," he said to Erik, who'd also come to stand by her. "But I'm not sure of the extent of her physical injuries."

He merely nodded and watched as Charles' hands hovered over her body, searching for harm of any kind. When he skimmed over her stomach and her protruding ribs, she let out a hiss of pain and turned her head to the side, jaw tightly clenched, as if it was the only thing tethering her to the world. Picking up on her discomfort, the telepath gingerly peeled back the fabric of her thin olive green blouse, surprised to find it sticky with blood. Gritting his teeth, he struggled not to turn away as a large, deep gash made itself prominent between two of her ribs. He dimly heard Erik mutter something—German?—before he reached into his pocket and pulled out a white handkerchief. Charles wanted to _scream _at him. What good would a tiny piece of cloth do against a gaping wound that was bleeding like a river?

Somewhere in the back of his mind, though, rationality kicked in and he grabbed the handkerchief from Erik and pressed it as hard as he could on to the cut. The girl gave a strangled sort of cry and tried to force herself deeper into the ground, desperate to get away from the pain. Charles felt his stomach tighten as he gazed at her tormented face, as he felt the agony she was going through. He ran his fingers through her hair in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, hoping that it would serve to calm her down at least a little bit.

"Keep pressure on it," Erik said, startling the telepath out of his thoughts. "I'm getting Hank."

_Of course,_ Charles mentally chided, kicking himself for not thinking of that earlier. _Here we have someone who's bleeding to death, and it didn't even cross your mind to call for the only person on the grounds with medical knowledge. Way to go, genius. _

He didn't look up as his friend took off for the laboratory, running faster than he thought possible. No, he focused all of his attention on the girl, struggling to ease the panic in his mind. Panic would do neither of them any good; it would only serve to render him practically useless and _that _would end up _killing_ her.

So clamping down on his restlessness, he redoubled his efforts and waited for Erik to return, all the while gently stroking her dark brown hair. She leaned into his touch, momentarily relaxing her tense posture as the pain seemed to dissipate. Breathing a quick sigh of relief, Charles stopped threading his hand through her hair and instead moved it to her wrist to check her pulse. The skin felt rough to his touch, not quite calloused, but not exactly smooth either, almost as if it was covered in blisters. He frowned, but didn't investigate any further, dropping her arm as soon as he felt a steady beat.

That was when her eyes shot open.

A wild, frightened, and confused hazel gaze met his own and then proceeded to dart across the grounds of the mansion, absorbing every little detail like a sponge in a pool of water. Her small mouth opened and closed, but whether it was to speak or to scream, he couldn't tell. All she managed was a tiny high-pitched whistling sound that seemed to cost her a lot of energy, even though it was such a minuscule action.

Feeling the girl's self control slip away, Charles hurriedly sent a wave of calmness in her direction, hoping that it would serve to keep her still and, more importantly, _alive_. She jolted at first, surprised at the sudden intrusion, but then sighed and let her body go limp. Her eyes stopped flickering back and forth and instead focused on his own, shining with barely masked pain and what almost looked like... trust?

"Listen to me very carefully," he said and she flinched at the sound of his voice, fear starting to take her over once again.

"Wha—" she began, but he quickly shushed her.

"You _have_ to calm your mind. If you panic, it will only make things worse."

Slowly, so very slowly, she nodded and he allowed a slight smile to form on his lips.

"There you go. Now, I need you to stay awake for me until help arrives, alright?"

Another nod.

"It'll be here soon. I promise. But for now, why don't you tell me your name?"

She turned her head to the side and coughed before managing a weak response.

"A—Ava."

"_Ava_," he repeated. "Such a beautiful name."

She attempted a smile, but found that it took too much effort and immediately stopped. Slowly, her eyelids started to droop down, apparently having lost all will to fight any longer.

"Ava, stay with me now!" Charles said and brought his hand back up to her face, cupping her cheek and smearing it with blood. "Hey—hey! Look at me! That's it, eyes on me. No falling asleep."_  
_

He thought he heard her mutter something along the lines of _shut up_, but he couldn't be sure.

"Keep fighting, don't let this control you!" _Damn it, where the HELL was Erik?!_ "You can do this."

He could tell that he was mere seconds away from losing her. For some reason, the thought alone terrified him as he stared into the deep hazel chasm that represented her eyes. He didn't know what to do. For once in his life, he was absolutely _clueless_. The feeling was dark and dismal and he _hated it hated it hated it!_ How could he possibly even _begin _to figure this out? He wasn't a doctor, but a professor for God's sake! He couldn't do this. He couldn't.

But one more look at Ava sent his mind reeling for something—anything—that would at least keep her awake. And, after a brief moment of thought, he realized that he had it.

"Central heterochromia," he said and, to his relief, her gaze moved back to his.

"What?" She whispered, her lack of energy crippling her voice.

"Your eyes. The outer iris is a different color than the center. In your case, it's brown around the pupil and green on the edges."

"Speak... English."

"It's a mutation... and a brilliant one at that."

"I... said English."

He chuckled and ran his thumb over one of her cheekbones.

"They're hazel."

She finally managed a smile and a small laugh of her own.

"Wasn't... so bad."

He grinned and continued to stroke her cheek as Erik and Hank finally—_finally_—arrived. Immediately, Hank knelt down next to the two, an advanced first aid kit in his hands. He shooed Charles away from the wound and proceeded to inspect it, a thoughtful and troubled look on his face. After a thorough examination, he opened the med kit and pulled out a needle and thread, hurriedly combining the two so he could fix the wound.

"There's no sign of internal bleeding," he said as he eyed the device to make sure that it was correctly adjusted. "But this requires stitches. We don't have any anesthesia, so she's unfortunately going to have to be awake for it. Erik? I need you to hold her down and keep her as still as you can. Charles? Talk to her and make sure that she stays calm."

He looked at the two men and got a confirming nod from each, signaling him to begin. Sucking in a deep breath, Hank stuck the needle in and began to suture the gash. The _second_ he pierced the skin, Ava arched her back and cried out in pain, her eyes shooting open and finding Charles'. As Erik forced her to remain motionless, Charles resumed his previous position, but this time with both hands cupping her face.

"It's alright," he said as soothingly as he could. "It'll be over soon."

Another stitch went in and another cry followed it, louder this time. He winced in sympathy and continued his whispers of comfort, struggling to keep his composure. He'd never been good with blood or violence or anything of that sort and felt unwanted revulsion in the pit of his stomach. Startled, Ava looked up at him, concern briefly taking the place of the pain on her face as she sputtered out:

"S-sorry."

Charles felt his heart clench at her words, guilt suddenly flooding through him. She was _apologizing_. To _him_. _He_ wasn't the one having to go through surgery while still _conscious_, though he probably would if he chose to make contact with her mind.

"None of that now," he said, fighting the urge to just put her to sleep so she would be out of her misery. "There's nothing to be sorry for. Hank?"

The young scientist didn't look up from his work, but responded nonetheless.

"Yeah?"

"How much longer?"

A brief moment of contemplation and then:

"Just a few more stitches."

Charles nodded and looked over at Erik, who gave a halfhearted smile of encouragement. It seemed to take forever, but finally, the last suture was finished and Hank announced that the girl was out of danger. By then, her eyelids had involuntarily shut, despite Charles' attempts to keep her awake. Sighing, he sent one last calming pulse toward her in hopes that it would give her a relatively restful sleep and reluctantly turned toward Hank.

"What now?" He asked, already knowing the answer before it was spoken.

"We need to get her inside. She's absolutely exhausted and needs a decent place to recover."

Charles nodded, carefully slipping one arm under Ava's legs and the other under her back. He was able to lift her with ease—the poor girl weighed next to nothing—and, ignoring Erik's flicker of amusement, started walking toward the house. Thunder crackled in the background, loud like a jet engine, and the rain came down harder, completely drenching them to the bone. They picked up speed as they neared the front door, almost at a sprint to get out of the storm, and Charles could only pray that the children had enough common sense to stay out of their way.

His hopes were shattered as soon as they crossed the threshold; they were already crowded in the entryway, Raven being the first and foremost. Confused and worried looks shrouded each of their faces, making them seem a lot younger than they really were. Gritting his teeth, he shouldered past them without a word and made his way to one of the guest bedrooms at the end of the hall. When he disappeared through the door, the onslaught of questions started, thankfully directed at Hank and Erik.

"What happened?"

"Who _was _that?"

"How'd she get here?"

"Is she dead?"

The inquiries floated through the walls as Charles gently lay Ava on the bed that stood in the far left corner of the room. He was fairly certain that the last sentence was Sean's and felt a surge of annoyance well up inside of him. Barely managing to clamp down on it, he lifted Ava as lightly as possible so he could pull the covers down. It was harder than it should've been because he had to take care not to wake her, but he was finally able to get her under them. He made sure to pull the thick brown wool comforter up to her chin before standing and leaving the room, carefully shutting the door behind him.

Once again, he was met with confused stares from everyone except Hank and Erik, who were unsurprisingly standing right across the hall from him, eyes asking one question and one question only.

_Is she alright?_

It was Hank who thought it, apparently more concerned for the girl's safety than Erik. Charles nodded, momentarily glaring at his friend, but quickly remembered that the rest of the kids still needed to be dealt with. He sighed and plastered an impassive look on his face before trusting himself to turn around to face them.

To say they were terrified would be an understatement. The second they caught sight of his bloody hands, they blanched and involuntarily sent a wave of uneasiness his way, nearly causing him to be sick. Raven, apparently having been elected the official leader for the group, immediately picked up on this and hurriedly shushed them.

"What happened, Charles?" She asked in a calmer voice, careful to keep all sense of urgency out of her tone.

He frowned and massaged his temples, exhaustion suddenly overcoming his body as he thought of an answer that wouldn't scare them even further.

"I'm afraid I don't know much more than you," he said after a while. "And I don't think _she_ does either. Poor girl seemed pretty confused when she arrived."

"How _did_ she get here?" Alex demanded as he and Sean nervously looked over at the guest room.

"I don't know that either. The only thing I got out of her was her name."

"And it's...?" Raven pressed.

"Ava..." He gently sent his mind out and made contact with the girl, carefully peeling away the layers of her thoughts until he was able to dig out more information. "Ava Harriet Devoe. Twenty years old, daughter of a tuna fisherman and an elementary school teacher, and... just signed the lease to her first apartment."

"Is she—" Sean began, only to be interrupted mid sentence.

"As far as I know, she's not working for Shaw. Unless he's figured out a way to permanently erase memories, which I highly doubt, I would be able to tell." He met each of their eyes and offered a reassuring smile. "I know that you're all confused. So am I. But the best thing to do is wait for her to wake up, which probably won't be until morning, right Hank?"

"After going through what she did, I'd place my money on tomorrow afternoon," the young scientist responded and wiped his glasses on his shirt. "At least. And even when she does, she'll be too exhausted to try anything."

That seemed to do the trick. With one final glance at the three men, Raven shouldered past them and headed upstairs to her room, Alex and Sean quickly following suit. Charles heard three doors slam shut and felt relief flood through him. At least one problem had been dealt with and relatively calmly at that. Sure, there would probably be more questions the next day, but he could deal with it then. At the moment, all he wanted to do was sit down with whatever liquor he still had (Erik definitely spared no expense when it came to raiding his kitchen) and relax.

But he knew that he couldn't, even after everything that had happened. Taking a deep breath to regain control of himself, he turned to Hank, who was staring at him in concern.

"I'm fine," he said with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

He ignored the doubtful stare that he gave him as well as Erik's sarcastically muttered '_obviously_.' Shaking his head, Hank glanced at the room which Ava was occupying and stated,

"Someone should stay with her. You know... in case she wakes up."

Charles took note of his shaking hands, specifically the way he kept twisting them together, and immediately knew that the boy was about to keel over from exhaustion.

"Right," he agreed and gave his arm a comforting squeeze. "That'll be me then. Get some rest, Hank. We're going to need you in good condition for tomorrow."

He could tell that he was seconds away from protesting—something about being the only one with medical knowledge—so he held up a hand, effectively stopping him before he could say anything.

"Thank you for the offer, Hank, but I think she'd prefer seeing a face that she actually recognized as _friendly_ to one that stuck a needle in her. And Erik, don't even _think _about it; you're too intimidating."

His friend arched an eyebrow, but didn't say a word, which Charles was thankful for. After bidding the two of them good night, he pushed the door open and walked into the room, eyes immediately resting on Ava. He sighed and pulled up a chair next to her bedside, subconsciously reaching out to brush a brown curl from her eyes. She stirred a little and turned her pale face toward him, her breathing becoming less ragged for a moment. He smiled and gently carded his fingers through her hair, careful not to get his hand caught in the loose waves. She relaxed even further, head sinking into the soft down pillow as she finally became calm enough to enter a deeper sleep. The tense features she sported slowly disappeared, revealing just how young she truly was. With a start, he realized that she couldn't be more than eighteen, maybe twenty if she just had a youthful looking face. A moment after this discovery, she stirred, muttering something unintelligible, before rolling over on to her side and shielding her face from Charles' view. He sighed, mentally chastising himself for not bringing a book or any other sort of entertainment, and made himself more comfortable.

It was going to be a long night.

.

.

.

In my time of dying, as my life was flashing before my eyes, you know what I saw? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing meaningful, nothing beautiful, and most certainly nothing admirable. I saw a pathetic excuse for a human, whining and silently complaining, _screaming_ for someone to notice me.

_Notice me! I'm unique_.

_Notice me! I'm a tortured soul, a damsel in distress. _

I watched my needy self beg for attention by hiding away. _Notice me! I'm not here anymore_. _  
_

_Ask why. _

And as I struggled to pull away from the sickening story that is my life...

I lived.

My heart began to beat again, despite my best efforts. And as I opened my eyes to glare at my unwanted savior, I saw peace. I _felt_ peace. Those blue eyes that stared down at me radiated serenity and in that moment, I knew that no matter my many faults and unsocial tendencies, I should live. I _wanted _to live. For the first time in what felt like years, I wanted to see the sun rise, the dawn of a new day.

But of course, it was all a lie. Simply a mind trick. A false sense of security doomed to be forgotten. Yet somehow, that man who spoke of my hazel eyes and made me feel temporary peace... he gave me a reason to stay. To hope...

To _live_.

And that's all I could ever ask for.

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**So that's a wrap! I really hope that you guys like this! I'm super nervous and excited to post it! Please leave a review and let me know how I did!**

**-Nopride.**


	2. Chapter One

**Hello everyone and welcome back! First of all, big thanks to everyone who favorited, reviewed, and followed this story. It really means a lot to me and I'm so glad that you like it. **

**TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE READ: Mentions of depression, suicide, and drugs.**

**Doyle0915: I'm glad that you liked it! Here's the next chapter.**

**Lovestory2055: All I can say to that is maybe lol. **

**0Cloudless0: Not a one shot my friend! Here you go. **

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Zoloft:

_An SSRI that treats depression, anxiety, OCD, and other disorders. _

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Bright, warm light was streaming on my face by the time I finally managed to open my bleary eyes. Blinking tiredly, I heard a horrible, low, guttural moan escape my throat as I lifted a hand to protect them. Next to me, the beautiful harmonies of the Everly Brothers' _Crying in the Rain_ crooned into the air, putting my mind at ease before it even had a reason to be disturbed. With a sigh of content, I let my head sink further into the fluffy down pillow it was lying on, my long, somewhat kinky hair tickling my neck as I managed to relax. _  
_

_'...If I wait for cloudy skies you won't know the rain from the tears in my eyes...'_

The lyrics drifted through my ears, melodic, powerful, and so, so lovely. Ever since I moved out of my house at the tender age of seventeen—my parents were about as eager to get rid of me as I was to leave—, music had been my go to form of escape. Well, one of them anyways; when you've been on your own for a while, you tend to learn some reality-bending tricks here and there.

But sadly, those do _not _include suddenly losing all sense of responsibility and staying in bed all day.

I knew that I was about five seconds away from falling asleep again and that if I didn't get up, I would be late for work for the third time in a row. My boss—who just so happens to be a complete asshole—would _kill_ me if I didn't, as he so eloquently puts it, '_drag my lazy self outside for once and serve the people at slot number six_.' I can't afford to lose this job, not after I've already gone through so many. The rent doesn't pay itself and like I mentioned before, I'm completely on my own.

So somehow attempting to ignore the Everly Brothers, I struggled to heave myself into a sitting position and out of bed. Immediately, a bolt of pain shot through my ribs, causing black spots to appear in my vision as I let out a strangled cry. Gasping for breath that I didn't have, I fell back against the mattress, the pain only getting worse with every minute movement I made.

Not a moment later, I felt strong hands grip my shoulders and keep me in place. In the seconds that followed, a wave of calmness swept over me and dulled the pain to a manageable throb. My breathing slowed from sporadic pants to deep, cleansing breaths that, although painful, cleared my head enough for me to think straight. The pressure on my shoulders lessened, but whoever was in the room with me kept their hands hovering over my body should I suddenly start to panic again.

I swallowed and slowly craned my neck to the right. Bright, worried blue eyes that seemed vaguely familiar stared back at me. The man they belonged to appeared to be slightly older than me, early to mid twenties if I was judging correctly. His soft brown hair was neatly combed in a 1960s elegant style that I'd only seen in movies. As I gawked, completely freaked out of my mind, he sat back in his chair, reached over to the nightstand next to the bed, and grabbed a glass of water. He handed it to me carefully, unsure of how I was going to react. I wordlessly grabbed it and, after inspecting it to make sure that he hadn't drugged it or anything along those lines, drank eagerly. I couldn't find it in myself to really care that I probably looked like an animal at a watering hole; I was way too parched to be that petty.

When the glass was empty, he took it and placed it back on the table, the corners of his mouth twitching. I flushed and barely resisted the urge to pick my fingernails, instead choosing to pull at the sleeves of my olive green blouse. It took a while, but when I was finally able to look at him again, I managed to utter a coherent sentence.

"Th-thank you," I croaked, voice still thick from sleep. "For the water, I mean."

"You're quite welcome," he said with a heartwarming smile and I blushed again, inwardly cursing my awkwardness. If he noticed, he didn't mention it, instead holding his hand out for me to shake. "Charles Xavier."

I looked at him stupidly before grasping it in my own shaky hold. "Ava Devoe."

A glint in his eyes told me that somehow, he already knew my name and was just being polite with his introduction. Before I could say anything else, images flashed through my mind, dark, painful, and confusing. I saw myself lying on the ground, pale as death and bleeding profusely from a wound in my side. Charles was leaning over me, sheer panic in his gaze as he frantically spoke to me and carded his fingers through my soaking wet hair. Other people were there as well, one of them staring at me darkly, the other... helping me? Causing me pain? It was hard to tell.

And then it all came rushing back.

"I know you!" I exclaimed as I struggled to sit up again, only to have him push me back down. "You—you were there last night! You..." I paused mid sentence as I glanced around the room for a moment, my eyes widening until they were the size of the moon. "Where the _hell_ am I?!"

As he sat there trying to think of a decent answer, one thought and one thought only was running through my dark, dismal head.

_Great job, idiot. You can't even kill yourself properly. _

"Ava, you need to calm down," Charles finally said in a low, controlled voice. He looked strained—upset even—and was staring at me in what appeared to be pity. His blue gaze met mine as he gently placed a hand on my shoulder, effectively keeping me pinned against the bed. "I know that you're confused right now. Honestly, so am I. But panicking won't help; it'll only serve to make things worse."

Slowly, I sucked in a breath through my nose and out through my mouth like I'd learned to do in yoga and managed to nod. Once he was sure that I wasn't going to lose it again, Charles let go of me and sat back in his chair, face clouded with worry.

"Did you tear your stitches?" He asked gently and I frowned.

"What sti—oh."

I peeled back the fabric of my shirt to reveal an angry red line that nearly stretched from my hip to my ribcage. Thankfully, none of the sutures were popped and the wound was still held together. I let out a sigh of relief and covered it, suddenly self conscious of my bare skin.

"It's, uh, it's fine," I stammered as I flushed a deep scarlet. "All good."

He didn't seem convinced, but eventually let it go. I tried to give him what I hoped was a reassuring smile, but it quickly turned into a grimace as a bolt of pain shot through me. Wincing sympathetically, he reached over to the nightstand once again and grabbed two white pills that he, after a moment's hesitation, handed to me.

"For the pain," he said quietly and I raised my eyebrows. Like I was really going to accept random drugs from a complete stranger.

"Unless you have the brand, the date they were manufactured, and the package, I'm not taking _shit_."

He flinched a little and carefully put them back, a somewhat hurt look on his face. It seemed genuine and despite my best efforts, I felt a pang of guilt in my chest. I pushed it away as best as I could, but the damage had already been done. He'd shown me nothing but kindness and given me no reason not to trust him. After all, why would he save my life only to hurt me later? Not to mention the fact that he'd obviously been watching over me the entire night, judging by the dark circles under his eyes.

So yeah. I. Am. _Such_. An. _Idiot_.

"Sorry," I murmured apologetically and glanced over at him. "It's just, uh, I mean... I'm only trying to be careful. I... I don't even _know_ you or where I am or how I got here... or how much I had to drink last night and I'm just kinda freaking out, ya know?"

"It's okay," he said with a small, tired smile. "You don't have to apologize. If I was in your position, I would be frightened too." He gently patted my hand. "And as for the pills, I can tell you the whole story if you like."

Well, I couldn't say that it wouldn't make me feel better, so against my better judgment, I said,

"Sure."

He chuckled fondly as he recalled the memory.

"They're left over from a bit of an—er... _accident_ we had here on the grounds. One of my friends broke his arm."

"How'd he do it?"

"Fell from the second story window."

I laughed, even though it hurt to do so, and he grinned, all previous traces of hurt gone. I reached out and grabbed one of the pills from the table. Flipping it through my fingers, I held it up to the light and asked,

"So what is it?"

"I believe it's called Methadone," he said as he took it back. "But I'm not sure. Wasn't really paying attention when the doctor prescribed it."

I started when he mentioned the name of the drug, disbelief and perhaps a little bit of fear sinking into my stomach.

"_Methadone_?" I exclaimed incredulously. "_Seriously_? Jesus Christ, thank _God_ I didn't take that shit! That would _not _have reacted well with the..."

_Zoloft_, I mentally finished and sighed. He didn't need to know about all the meds I'm currently taking.

"So it was a case of hardcore parkour gone wrong?" I said, desperate to change the subject.

"Pardon?" He asked with a confused head tilt and I frowned.

"You've never heard of parkour?" Disbelief was clear in my voice as I turned my head to the side in exasperation. "Oh my God, so you've never seen the fails on YouTube?"

"...YouTube?"

_Please tell me you're joking_, I thought, growing tired of his cluelessness. "Yeah, _YouTube_. Come on, man, even the most reclusive of hermits know about it!"

He arched a brow and ran a hand through his thick brown hair as he chewed his lip in contemplation.

"I can't say that I know what you're talking about," he finally said after a while. "And I'm certainly no hermit."

I rolled my eyes and huffed a breath of annoyance. "Alright, fine, wise guy. If you have a computer, go grab it and I'll show you."

"You can't fit a computer in this room," he said slowly and gave me a strange look. "Why would you..."

He trailed off with a frown and carefully leaned his head on his hand, pressing two fingers to his right temple. Through the building apprehension in my chest, I watched as his gaze morphed from one of slight confusion to one of deep disbelief.

"But that," he began, fixing his wide eyes on me, "that's _impossible." _

"What?" I asked, fear gnawing a giant, gaping hole through my heart. "What are you talking about?"

He blinked and quickly stood up from his chair, turning his back to me as he practically ran out the door.

"I'm so, so sorry, my dear," he called over his shoulder. "But I'm afraid we have to cut this conversation short."

"Wait!" I called out and tried to sit up once again, only to collapse back on to the mattress. "Charles—wait!"

My words only hit a closed door, the force of the slam making the calendar on the back of it sway from side to side. As it settled down, the bright picture of a sunny florida beach coming to a halt, I just barely managed to catch sight of the marked date...

My breath caught in my throat.

_July 5, 1962_.

My vision started to blur around the edges as a high pitched ringing settled in my ears. All other sounds faded as well as my sight and, with one last shuddering breath, everything went undeniably black.

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**Annd that's a wrap for this chapter. I hope that you guys like it! Please review, they mean the world to me! **

**Until next time,**

**-Nopride**


	3. Chapter Two

***Hides behind wall* I am So x 10^1000000 sorry for not updating! Things have been crazy and horrible, then alright, and then back to horrible. But now they're looking up and I have time/motivation to write. I hope you guys are still interested in this story! Please review and let me know how I'm doing. It really means a lot to me and I appreciate the feedback.**

**Future Trunks lover: Thank you so much! I'm glad you like it!**

**Guest: Thank you! Here you go!**

**Ryain: Pretty much lol**

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January 2014

He sat in his chair, one pale calloused hand resting on the table, the other leafing through the yellow pages of the book in his lap.

It was the first time I'd even bothered to take note of anyone in the small, fifties-style diner, with it's black and white linoleum floor that was coated in a thin layer of grey dust. He was easily old enough to be my grandfather twice over, yet he had an odd air of youth around him like a cloak, vibrant and strong. Serenity seemed to radiate off of him in waves as he read his book. Everyone around him appeared to be able to feel it. An enraged man who'd lost his last dollar on a broken mortgage was suddenly laughing with the waitress at his table. A wailing toddler on the other side of the room quieted without the use of a pacifier and her tired parents abruptly smiled. The cashier stopped aggressively swatting at the many flies that buzzed around his head...

And then there was me, sitting alone in a red leather booth, picking at my food rather than eating it.

How did I feel? Happy? Calm? Like I could conquer the world?

No. None of those things.

My mind was a whirlwind of damaged emotions and thoughts: anxiety, depression, intrusive images, more anxiety. Mental pictures of me taking my fork and stabbing it into the closest person's neck flashed behind my eyes, strong, clear, and so, so very terrifying. I saw myself closing my hands around the toddler's neck and squeezing until her face turned blue.

I dropped my head into my hands as tears made their way down my cheeks. No. I couldn't deal with this now, not in public, not with so many people around. I couldn't let them know that my mind was a dark and dangerous place seldom accepted by the ideals of man. I couldn't let them know about the deep horrors that projected themselves on to my closed eyelids like a movie. I couldn't let them see. They wouldn't understand. No one understands.

But how could I hide it when it was me? No facade, no walls, no lies. Just an utter and complete wretched excuse of a human being. Damaged goods. Irreparable...

Crazy.

I wished I could feel the tranquility that the old man was projecting. I wished it so hard that it hurt. Or maybe that was just me digging my nails into my palms. Again. Hissing a quiet curse, I pried my fingers away and stared at the punctured skin, old scars, and still healing scabs. I grabbed a napkin from the container on my right and pressed it as hard as I could against the wounds, the dull throb of pain easing my aching brain. Crimson coated the white material like ink that was held on paper for too long. The sight was grim, exhilarating, and terrifying all in one jumbled mess of confusion. And as the blood began to coagulate, I felt my anchor slipping away. I wanted so desperately to cry out in frustration, but I bit my tongue in defiance.

After all, there was no need to frighten the children in the restaurant.

"Miss?"

The voice was soft, deep, and right next to my ear. Startled, I looked up from my hands to see the old man sitting adjacent to my table. Wordlessly, he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and gave it to me, his bright blue eyes shining. I took it, thanked him, and wiped away the remaining blood. When I was finished, I wasn't sure if he wanted it back, so I set it on the table within his reach just in case.

"Do you mind if I join you?" He asked with a kind smile and I opened my mouth to refuse his request, but quickly shut it again. Normally, I would tell anyone to go away without a second thought. But something about this man was different. Something about me was different... and I wasn't sure if I liked it.

"Um, no, go ahead," I replied and gestured to his wheelchair. "Do you need any help?"

"No thank you, my dear," he said and lifted himself on to the leather seat with ease. "I've had... many years to get used to this process."

"Oh."

I winced and mentally cursed my awkwardness, which, in essence, makes me have the social skills of a tree. If the old man noticed, he didn't say anything. Instead, he grabbed his book and propped it open in his wrinkled hands, humming as he skimmed through the pages.

"I've always loved this story," he murmured contentedly and I leaned forward to peer at the title.

"Les Miserables?"

"Yes, a true masterpiece if I may say so. Beautifully written." As he spoke, his tone suddenly became more serious and somewhat sad. "The characters' lives are so terrible, yet they still try to make the best of them. I think that's what makes the novel so good, because people can identify with it."

"That's what makes us human," I said and managed a tight smile. "Empathy."

"Yes. Empathy. But not everyone has it and those that do often suffer more than those that need it."

Even though his words didn't necessarily mean me, I dropped his gaze and stared down at the bloody handkerchief, unwanted tears stinging the corners of my eyes. No. No. I wasn't going to cry, not in front of this man, this stranger. But as I met his stare once again, I felt all of the walls that I'd built over the years start to crumble. Humiliatingly, the moisture in my eyes spilled over and ran down my face like a river.

"I'm so, so sorry, my dear," the old man sympathized and reached over, clasping my hand in his own. "I sometimes forget how sensitive a subject this can be."

"Who—who are you?" I stammered, suddenly finding it hard to breathe through the thickness in my throat.

"My name is Charles Xavier. I'm here to help you."

"No one can help me." Not anymore at least.

"But that's where you're wrong. It is possible for you to obtain the happiness that you so desperately crave. All you have to do is be willing to let others in."

"Yeah well, I'm not!" I snapped and moved to slide out of the booth. "I didn't come here to be evaluated by some crippled old man who thinks he knows everything; I came here to have a decent last—"

I stopped mid sentence and shook my head, completely irritated at myself for letting that slip.

"Forget it. You can get the bill."

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"Miss Pride?" Charles asked as he wheeled his way into his student's new playroom. "How is she?"

Kitty looked up from where she was sitting at her computer and abruptly stood, nearly knocking everything off her desk in the process. She strode over to him, her pupils dilated with eagerness, and stopped about a foot away. She folded her hands in front of her and stared into the age wizened gaze of the professor. She could hardly contain her excitement as she gave her status report.

"She's doing great, Professor," she said happily. "Logan stitched the wounds and did the transfusion; it's a wonder that they turned out to have the same blood type." She paused for a moment to take a breath and then continued: "When we were sure she was stable, we brought her down here like you said."

"And has she shown any signs of consciousness?"

"No. Logan said you wanted her kept under."

There was a hint of confusion to her voice that Charles noted with a raise of his eyebrows. "Does this surprise you, Miss Pride?"

"Yes—I mean—no. She's been through a lot, could've died if you hadn't been there..." More confusion radiating off her in waves and then: "Professor, why _were_ you there?"

He sighed and moved over to one of the many printers in the room. It spewed data at a nearly impossible rate and he pretended to be interested in it for a moment, though it was obvious that he was just thinking of a way to explain himself.

"She thinks too loudly," he finally said, eyes settling on the young woman in the center of the room. She was lying on an improvised bed composed of pillows and blankets while electrodes taped to her skull sent information to the computer. "Far too loudly."

Kitty frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means that I could hear her from across the street. I knew what she had in mind probably before she did and I wanted to make sure it didn't happen."

"So that explains why you were at her apartment at three o'clock in the morning to stop her from bleeding out? With all due respect, Professor, she's human and you've said yourself that you want to let people live their own lives."

"My dear, humans are perhaps more complicated than mutants. And yes, I _do_ try to stay out of others' affairs, but this poor girl was crying out for help. She didn't know it, but her mind was projecting it as clear as day."

Kitty smiled and folded her arms across her chest. "You just can't stop helping people, can you Professor?"

Charles reciprocated her grin and glanced over at the computer once again. "I believe it's built in my character," he said. "How's the connection holding up?"

Her smile vanishing, Kitty walked to her laptop and typed in a command. Words flashed on to the screen like lightning and she read it before it could rapidly disappear. When she seemed satisfied, she turned back to him and said,

"It's strong, stronger than I ever could've imagined. I—I didn't even know it was _possible_ to sustain one this long—and without a proper body in the time period."

"Ah, I take it the digital scans worked then?"

"More than you know. This link is so stable that I sometimes forget the risks."

He knew it was a warning mixed with Kitty's slight lack of confidence in herself, so he turned to her with a reassuring smile on his face.

"You're doing wonderfully, Miss Pride. Have some faith in your abilities."

"But I shouldn't be able to _do_ this. Without the computer, she wouldn't have been able to jump back a couple of days, let alone about half a century. Her mind would've burned up in the process... I'm surprised that it hasn't yet and I'm not placing any bets that it'll stay this way."

Charles sighed and gently grasped Kitty's hand in his own in what he hoped was a reassuring gesture.

"Come, my dear," he said and began to lead her out of the room. "You should get something to eat. After all, you can't stay in here forever."

As they exited and shut the door with a soft _thunk_, the printers suddenly began to fire papers filled with numbers:

01000011 01101000 01100001 01110010 01101100 01100101 01110011

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**And that's a wrap for this chapter! Again, I am so so so so so so so so so so so so so sorry for not updating, but things have been a little rough for me lately. I promise I will try to update on a regular schedule!**

**Oh and if anyone's confused about this update, it's basically an intercalary chapter that vaguely explains (and the vagueness is done on purpose) how Ava got to the past. So Kitty has the power to send people's consciousness back in time, right? Well, my friend and I got the idea that if she had something like Cerebro, she could theoretically hook up a person's mind to a computer, where the link would be stable. And as for Ava having a body in the past (remember, she didn't exist back then), I imagined that they could digitally scan her and basically make a computerized version of her that they could then project to the past along with her mind. It's all in theory though :)**

**Oh and the numbers at the bottom actually translate to something. Just go to a binary code translator on the web (it should work. If not, I'll post what it said in the next chapter).**

**Well, that's about it. Please leave a review! They really mean a lot to me and I really appreciate the feedback.**


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